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Ingrid Newkirk killed a thousand dogs and cats with her own hands

Meet Ingrid Newkirk, found of PETA, self-described ‘press slut’ and crazier than a whole six-pack of post-experimental laboratory baboons. Her Wikipedia entry (from which I pinched all this) makes it clear she’s a complete nutter — and it was written by a sympathizer. (How do I know? The author describes an experience Ingrid had in India, watching villagers bind a dog’s “arms and feet.” Dogs don’t have arms, sweetcheeks. It’s legs all the way around. Only an animal rights activist can be that retarded about actual animals).

Ingrid was born in Ware, England (sorry, Uncle B) in 1949. Her dad was an engineer and the family moved to India when she was young. There she rescued strays and helped her mother (a volunteer for Mother Teresa) roll bandages and prepare medicine for the lepers. There, I suspect, she learned to loathe every living creature that moveth in the waters and every creature that creepeth upon the earth. Just a guess.

The family moved to the States in the ’60s and she didn’t do anything batshit insane, that I am aware of, until 1970. That year, she took a litter of kittens to the shelter in Poolesville, Maryland where they were promptly gassed. Also, it was a horrible place and the woman at the shelter was rude to her. That really, really upset her, so she decided to work there.

Does that make sense? No, of course it doesn’t.

She describes how horrible her co-workers were, kicking the animals around and “stepping on the animals, crushing them like grapes” and how she complained to management, but nothing was done. Did that happen? Maybe. But it has the thin, high music of a personal sadistic fantasy to me. Anyhow, her solution in her own words:

“In the end, I would go to work early, before anyone got there, and I would just kill the animals myself. Because I couldn’t stand to let them go through that. I must have killed a thousand of them, sometimes dozens every day.”

Oh-kay.

Right.

Whoo!

Oh, look! More crazy:

“On my way down into the District, I would stop in Potomac and pick up triple-ground prime meat … I would break a raw egg and take onions and capers and I would mix it all, and I would go about checking on the animals while eating this raw food right out of my hand.”

Before she went vegan, obviously. Handling animals and munching on a fistful of raw meat. Jesus fucking christ in a cornfield, that’s some serious crazy. Of course, eating excellent quality raw meat in front of an animal on a meager shelter diet would be a great way to tease the shit out of it. Just saying.

But wait! There’s more:

“Shelters cannot humanely house and support all these animals until their natural deaths—they would be forced to live for years, lonely and stressed, in cramped cages or kennels, and other animals would have to be turned away because there would not be room for them. Turning unwanted animals loose to roam the streets is not a humane option. If they don’t starve, freeze, get hit by a car, or die of disease, they may be tormented and possibly killed by cruel juveniles or picked up by dealers who obtain animals to sell to laboratories.”

Noticed what’s not listed as an option: adopting them out as pets. Because people like Ingrid believe animals that rub along pretty well with humans are traitors and must die. That’s why PETA shelters adopted out LESS THAN ONE PERCENT of the animals they took in in 2007. Ingrid must’ve called in sick the day those 17 animals found homes.

You know what? I’m not even going to talk about the good things PETA has done. Because they have done good things along with the stupid things, and on issues that are very important to me, and I’m madder than hell that a sadistic fuck like Ingrid Newkirk got her attention-whoring psychotic stink all over them.

Furylanche! Rottweilerlanche! Malkinlanche! (And anyone else whose kind link got buried under the giant footprint that is Michelle Malkin). Welcome! Stay! I’ll do my best to continue pissing you off in the worst way. Wait…that’s a good thing, right?

Apropos to nothing: Just heard from McGoo. No internet connectivity yet. (He sent an e-mail whilst using a hotel lobby’s free wifi.) He sends his regards to y’all!

Comment from porknbeanTime: August 1, 2008, 1:35 pm

munching on a fistful of raw meat….in front of an animal on a meager shelter diet .

The crazy is in the details. Through all of the bright lights and the noise, it is the small things that stop you in your tracks. Ones actions define who one is. That right there, tells me everything I need to know about ‘her’ sort and my very being recoils.

As well there should, scubafreak. I can see herding any kids off, but noone could knock the dude off balance and sit on him? Granted the deed was already done, but why couldn’t the cops even take him out? Do cops even carry weapons in Canada?

Comment from porknbeanTime: August 1, 2008, 2:08 pm

Newkirk looks like Madonna’s first husband, dude-whats-his-face?

Comment from MattTime: August 1, 2008, 2:31 pm

Pork, His name is Sean Penn and I thought the same thing. She looks a lot like Penn did in “Fast Times at Ridgemont High” were he played a stoned surfer dude. For the record he’s a bit of nutter himself now… I guess being married to Madonna would do that to a guy though.

Comment from AllenTime: August 1, 2008, 2:37 pm

PnB, that’s funny as hell. Sean Penn that is. Maybe those two are related, he’s a bit swhacked too.

“I can see herding any kids off, but noone could knock the dude off balance and sit on him? “

Well, in the confines of a crowded bus, seeing someone go from reasonable to plunging-hunting-knife-into-innocent-persons-throat-multiple-times, probably doesn’t lead to clear thinking. One eyewitness described a woman throwing her young child forward several rows to get him clear of danger… *boggle*

To their credit, one passenger, the driver and the truck driver who stooped to help went back to barricade the doors. If they hadn’t succeeded, who knows how high the toll would be…?

Comment from porknbeanTime: August 1, 2008, 2:51 pm

Julia, if that is what it took to get my kid closer to safety, then throw him I will. Kids have bounce and heal up quickly and I’m not saying that to be funny.

I hear you on the not thinking clearly through the mad rush for the door, but that poor guy. Surely someone could have tossed something at him before he took his head off. His movements were just as impeded.

Still no excuse for the cops not putting him down. Now the folks have to pay to keep him fed and clothed all the rest of his days.

“Julia, if that is what it took to get my kid closer to safety, then throw him I will.”

Oh, I wasn’t bogging at the throwing (I’d have done the same) – just at the sheer terror that must have ensued for her to decide that was the best option.

“Surely someone could have tossed something at him before he took his head off.”

I think he was dead long before that point. At least, I hope so, for his family’s sake…

“Still no excuse for the cops not putting him down.”

It IS Canada.. 😉

We’re the same here – the cops in Chelsea took out a guy going nuts with a shotgun recently and they are still being castigated for it. The guy was a solicitor, you see, and that sort of thing shouldn’t happen to decent, ordinary gun-wielding maniacs members of the Law Society.

Comment from Gibby HaynesTime: August 1, 2008, 3:02 pm

God yes, she does look like Spicoli, except…uglier.

Apropos to nothing: Just heard from McGoo. No internet connectivity yet. (He sent an e-mail whilst using a hotel lobby’s free wifi.) He sends his regards to y’all!

Great news. Please, send him my regards when you next correspond, Musli.

Oh, and you’re from Blighty too Julia? Wow, that makes three of us now. We’re taking over this sucker. Watch out Weas.

Comment from porknbeanTime: August 1, 2008, 3:23 pm

He may have been dead, but desecrating the dead is just as bad.

the cops in Chelsea took out a guy going nuts with a shotgun recently and they are still being castigated for it.

Castigated by whom? I doubt the regular people, who matter, were upset with them for doing their job.
At least here, for now, regular people in most places can whip out their own weapon and defend themselves. A jury would not convict them. The places with the highest crime rates are liberal controlled and/or has the strictest gun policies.

Comment from S. WeaselTime: August 1, 2008, 3:47 pm

Eh. That’s a big fear of mine: that I’ll just lock up in an emergency. I’ve done okay with the minor emergencies I’ve faced so far, but I’ve never had to deal with a knife-wavy nutjob on a Greyhound bus.

“Castigated by whom? I doubt the regular people, who matter, were upset with them for doing their job.”

The family, naturally – you’d expect nothing else, tbh. Oh, and how about his landlord, who was cowering in the basement during the rampage…? But now thinks it’s awful that the trained police teams didn’t take her advice on how to end the seige?

But then, that’s Chelsea people for you….

Comment from S. WeaselTime: August 1, 2008, 4:41 pm

Eh. I’m going to spend the rest of my life surrounded by them, what’s one more limey in my margarita?

Comment from porknbeanTime: August 1, 2008, 4:48 pm

Same here weasel. Basic instincts will kick in and ‘flight’ surely overrides fight, if the threat isn’t immediately directed at you. Especially in such close quarters.

I wonder, if the guy got a chance to see it coming and started to put up a fight, if his fellow travellers would have then helped. Or if society as a whole hadn’t grown so soft and pacifistic…say, if everyone was taught from a young age, different self defense techniques.

Comment from AllenTime: August 1, 2008, 4:53 pm

Weasel, I suppose it beats scurvy.

Just kidding…

Really I am.

Comment from pajama mommaTime: August 1, 2008, 5:25 pm

I will admit, when I was a teenager and worked on an egg ranch those boys were not particularly nice to the animals. You start to despise those little buggers. Chikens ur dum.

It saddens me now to think of how those little chickens were treated.

Comment from S. WeaselTime: August 1, 2008, 5:33 pm

I know, PJ. I know. I grew up on a farm — not really a working farm, but rural enough to know that a lot of farm stuff is very not nice. On some level, people who work on farms (and labs) have to be a bit callous or they couldn’t do the job. And we owe a huge historical debt of gratitude to both for the jobs they do.

On the other hand, there’s a line. It’s really tough being a ‘winger bunny-hugger and working out where that line should go.

I took Mrs. Pupster to my uncle’s pig farm once. She wouldn’t eat (or let me buy) bacon or any other assorted delicious pork products for a few months. We didn’t stick around long enough for her to be repulsed by the all the brutal farm stuff, just long enough to bond with the cute and sweet little piggies.

An American tourist in London decides to skip his tour group and explore the city on his own. He wanders around, seeing the sights, occasionally stopping at a quaint pub to soak up the local culture, chat with the locals, and have a pint of bitter.

After a while, he finds himself in a very nice neighborhood with big, stately residences…no pubs, no stores, no restaurants, and worst of all NO PUBLIC RESTROOMS.

He really, really has to go, after all those Guinnesses. He finds a narrow side street, with high walls surrounding the adjacent buildings and decides to use the wall to solve his problem.

As he is unzipping, he is tapped on the shoulder by a London police officer, who says, “I say, sir, you simply cannot do that here, you know.”

“I’m very sorry, officer,” replies the American, “but I really, really have to go, and I just can’t find a public restroom.”

“Ah, yes,” said the policeman…”Just follow me”. He leads the American to a back delivery alley to a gate, which he opens.

“In there,” points the policeman. “Go ahead sir, anywhere you like.”

The fellow enters and finds himself in the most beautiful garden he has ever seen. Manicured grass lawns, statuary, fountains, sculptured hedges, and huge beds of gorgeous flowers, all in perfect bloom.

Since he has the policeman’s blessing, he relieves himself and feels much more comfortable. As he goes back through the gate, he says to the police officer, “That was really decent of you… is that what you call English hospitality?”

“No sir…”, replied the police officer, “…that is what we call the French Embassy.”

Comment from AllenTime: August 1, 2008, 8:02 pm

What do I look like an animal shelter? Yes as a matter of fact, you do. Just got back to the casa and had a message from a friend, “Allen, do you want my Thoroughbred?”

This horse is a jumper, and ackkk, ackkk, “English” trained.

Weaz, can I have one of those Limey Margaritas?

On second thought, drinking from some flask, wearing funny clothes, and chasing an endangered species of fox does have a certain… Nevermind.

Just what I need, another horse to bond with me. Yeah, yeah, I said yes.

Comment from porknbeanTime: August 2, 2008, 2:49 am

Let it be known Allen, that critter adoption/talk demands accompanying pictures. If no photo, you must show us a drawing. Heh. Congratulations.

My job was as a candler and I would hang out in a dark booth and watch the eggs go over a conveyor belt and take out the blood eggs and cracked eggs. Blood eggs will gross you out of eating eggs.

When they’re baby chicks, you can’t always tell if a rooster’s in there so when you find a rooster, the boys would pick it up over their head and swing it to wring their necks because roosters are useles unless you’re trying to make more chickens.

That part I didn’t find mean, let’s just say, teenaged boys are sometimes, well, teenaged boys.

btw- that cat drawing the other day was incredible

Comment from Dave in TexasTime: August 2, 2008, 1:56 pm

My uncle Oscar raised chickens when I was a kid. One summer the electric fan in the coop died, as did about a hunnert chickens. The decomposition starts fast in August.

Me and my two cousins had to clean those carcasses out. Fun job if you like puking.

I couldn’t eat chicken for years.

Comment from LokkiTime: August 2, 2008, 4:05 pm

There ain’t much to country living – Sweat, piss, jizz and blood…

(Warren Zevon – “Play It All Night Long”)

My grandfather worked for Quaker State Oil in Franklin Pennsylvania during the Great Depression. He was afraid of getting laid off, so he bought a small farm on the theory that if everything DID go to Hell, he’d still be able to feed the family.

He then bought some cows and some chickens and a few sheep – no vegetarians, here, thank you. However -my grandfather knew nuthin’ about farming; my people hadn’t been farmers since sometime in the late middle ages. My father got to participate as the free labor during my grandfather’s learning curve.

He learned to truely, truely HATE chickens and HATE them with a passion. I learned all about this while he and I were wandering around in the old barn (40?) years later and I discovered that you can still smell chicken shit that’s 40 years old, if there was enough of it.

He did develop an affection for cows, though, and taught me that cows are rather intelligent. His favorite example – My cheap grandfather bought an electric fence. When the cows were first put out in the morning, they’d all play bump-ass until one of them got pushed into the fence and got shocked.
After that cow got goosed, they knew the fence was on and they’d stay away from it all day. So my grandfather waited patiently every morning till that happened and then turned the power off.

Oh, and Weasel – may I have permission to use your tabby drawing as a watermark on my (homemade with MSWord) personal stationary? It is very, very cool.

Comment from S. WeaselTime: August 2, 2008, 5:07 pm

Certainly, Lokki. ‘Twould be an honor. You want it at higher res? It looks better there than it does now; I think I made an illustrator’s mistake by framing it and boxing in the ear. Gotta learn this pretentious fine artiste stuff again.

My memories of farm life are mostly death and horror. And mostly not from the farming practices! Disease, predators, birth defects. Any misery humans have inflicted on animals pales to insignificance beside the misery nature inflicts on them every damn day in the course of bein’ natural.

Not counting some of the more esoteric scientific experiments, perhaps. Brrrr.

Comment from S. WeaselTime: August 2, 2008, 5:09 pm

Wait, did you mean the pencil drawing or the Photoshoppy thing? Because I think the latter is shown original size.

Comment from S. WeaselTime: August 2, 2008, 8:04 pm

Sorry about the trip to the filter, Dave. Godnose why Akismet took exception to that message. But I’ll tell you this: without it, we’d be dead in the water. I’m getting a couple of hundred spam messages a day now.

In Europe, eating raw hamburger with onion and egg (and a liberal dose of salt and pepper) isn’t uncommon at all. I grew up getting a bite of the meatloaf or hamburgers before they were cooked, courtesy of my German mother. When I was in Greenland, I rediscovered this delicacy during the weekly Danish Sunday brunch, not to mention a dozen varieties of pickled herring and tiny shrimp with mayo.

Still, walking around an animal shelter with a fistfull of squishy meat is definitely bat-shit crazy. Have you ever worked in a shelter? I couldn’t eat a cracker in a place permeated by the lovely aroma of dog shit and sick cats. The only analogy I can think of for this is Bill Paxton eating margarine by the stick, like a popsicle. It was in a twilight zone episode or something similar.

Comment from S. WeaselTime: August 4, 2008, 10:38 am

The shelter I hang out at smells so appallingly of Lysol it makes my eyes water. The smell permeates my clothes. It’s good they keep the place clean, but I bet the animals that get adopted from there run for the hills when the smell Lysol for the rest of their lives…

Comment from TimTime: August 4, 2008, 11:56 am

I have also heard Newkirk is diabetic and on insulin. Insulin was developed from animal research. I think I read somewhere it is produced from pigs pancreases.

Can anyone verify this? I think it would go a long way to debunk this lunatic, Ingrid “Crazy Ingie” Newkirk.

Comment from PeetTime: August 8, 2008, 2:58 pm

Tim,

Not Newkirk. Rent the Penn & Teller episode of
(can I type this?) BULLSH*T regarding PETA on DVD.
It was a woman (on camera they got her!) but another
one. She justified it like I help animals so it
is OK for *me* but not for you…

Caution – BULLSH*T is a cable program and contains
strong language — but it is worth putting up with
to see the job the boys do on PETA…

P.

Comment from Fecal McStoolTime: August 11, 2008, 12:00 pm

I like to talk about stool.

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